|
in your bossom fashion sleeps
to moarn for haedless jealous
heartless creeps
|
For nothing is more true
than the lies you whispered by the sunrise
the lies that took away the colour
from the face of the moon
|
glimpses of sad eternum
chasing your crumbling shadow
possessed by relations drawn
|
as though you were one of the few
we`re interested with meanest of many
as good man make us look guilty and bad
|
cry loud
cry louder even
pain will reach your vain
as soon
as your head will shut
your thought
|
as you retrieve my soul out of your
rotting body 'but not too soon for you to know
as justice dwells only in my sicken mind
|
you are
jilted
as there is really
nothing more
|
nobody listens
nobody talks
nobody wanders
how is it
we got here so low
|
and then when your lips
tend to close
then thousands of whispers
should be spawned
|
one russian teenaged cleaner
picked up a used condom
with some sour smell of succes
and spilled down to the ground
a
drop
after
drop
after
drop
|
the blood of my dad
that was spilled
long ago
cries loud down to
meet with the wealth
of these who him killed
|
as though knowledge
is thy friend
long before your eyes would close
yours shadow will stand alone
as the reason for thanksgiving
|
wasting your time
anticipating for cry
when it sorrows
it is just that way
|
now its winter of my youth
now the sky is reddy
blushing for the sight of my truth
as the wisdom of your wealth
teaches bravory in my hell
|
|
|
משפט אחרון לפני
המוות:
i do!
זהו, גמרתי.
|
|
